


Split

by raunchyandpaunchy



Series: Sun's Dawn [25]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Break Up, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2019, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17966888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy
Summary: Jenassa has her reasons for working from the Huntsman, and they start with Saadia.





	Split

There was a reason Jenassa frequented the Drunken Huntsman and not the Bannered Mare. Many assumed it was due to her Dunmer heritage, and Bosmer proprietors being more welcoming than Nords. In truth, it wasn’t hospitality or business that kept her away from the tavern—it was something far more complicated, with mahogany skin and silken black hair and eyes so dark you could disappear in them.

Saadia had been an enigma ever since they had first met, one cold, unforgiving Sun’s Dawn evening. Jenassa had returned from escorting a client through one of the many tombs that littered the country, and other than a split lip that oozed blood every time she smiled, she had made it back relatively unscathed. She wasn’t usually one for smiling, both her vocation and her nature making her someone who mostly remained stoic, but something about the way Saadia talked, gentle and soft, bantering with her about the tavern’s clientele made her grin so wide it opened her wound anew.

Her smile shifted to surprise when Saadia leaned in to her, making to take her cup, and whispered in her ear: “I need your help.”

The last person Jenassa had expected to be hired by was the quiet, unassuming Redguard working in the local tavern, but then again, people often surprised her. As they retired to Saadia’s room to discuss the contract further, the shroud of mystery that surrounded the woman only increased as she explained that men were after her but refused to disclose why.

Jenassa should have left. Common sense and gut instinct warned her to go. Screamed at her, in fact, especially after their meetings crossed the line from professional to personal. But she was too enamoured by Saadia, too wrapped up in her beauty and grace, and Gods knew it’d had been too long since she had been with another woman.

The first sign of danger appeared the day she spoke to the prisoner trapped in Whiterun prison. “Quite a price on her head,” he’d said, shrugging through the bars. “Course, people who have committed treason tend to incur a fairly hefty bounty.”

She could only scowl back at him as she turned, leaving with the information she needed. Still, his words gnawed at her, troubling her mind until she was forced to ask Saadia for her side.

“I spoke out against the Aldmeri Dominion,” Saadia explained. “Now they’ve sent Alik’r assassins after me.”

It was an answer that should have satisfied Jenassa. The reason itself was definitely valid and believable, but the way Saadia’s expression shifted and her voice remained cold and even—almost practiced—made the doubt linger. Jenassa shouldn’t have cared. She was a mercenary, and a well-paid one at that. Suspiciously well-paid for someone who worked in a tavern.

Over the following weeks, Jenassa started to notice more—Saadia’s clipped, enunciated speech, and her practiced, dancerly movements. The way she quickly changed the subject when she felt Jenassa was getting too close. Hidden daggers and strongboxes tucked under pillows and floorboards. Each detail blurred into obscurity with every kiss they shared, every touch, every stolen moment away from the Mare’s patrons. Jenassa was at war with herself—the undercurrent of doubt drowned out by every time Saadia pinned her against the wall or the bed and made her cry soundlessly for more.

When Jenassa had reached Kematu, his words to her had cut through sharper than any blade could. “What is it Iman’s calling herself nowadays… oh yes, Saadia, isn’t it?” The corners of his mouth curved, sly and dangerous. “I wonder just how much you truly know of her.”

“I know enough,” Jenassa replied, staring daggers at the man in front of her.

“Oh, so you’re aware she’s of noble lineage, then?” Kematu’s eyebrow raised, noticing the expression on Jenassa’s face change. “I’m guessing you didn’t. I’m also guessing you didn’t know she sold the rest of her family out to the Dominion and fled Hammerfell.”

Rage swelled deep and furious in Jenassa’s chest. “I don’t believe you.”

“Really? Something tells me you do.” Kematu shrugged. “Just a guess, but I’m assuming you and Iman are more than just business partners?”

Jenassa forced herself to stay silent, to not rise to the bait, but inside she screamed: _how did he know?_

“You don’t need to tell me, but you should know you’re not the first. And, if you make any hasty moves, you’re unlikely to be the last.” Each word was like an arrow to the heart. Kematu continued, cool and businesslike. “You’re a mercenary, just like I am. It’s in both our best interests to hand Iman over to me.”

Jenassa’s rage consumed her like a gout of fire. She didn’t give a shit about best interests or common sense or pragmatism. The only thing she cared about at this moment was tearing every Alik’r to shreds. Flames danced around her form as she attacked, a blur of leather and knives, and by the time the haze cleared all that was left were pools of blood and corpses of assassins and a thousand unanswered questions.

By the time Jenassa got back to Whiterun, the sun had long since set. Hulda gave her a knowing nod as she entered the Mare, climbing the stairs to her patron’s room two at a time.

“It’s done,” Jenassa said simply. Her body ached with fatigue. “You never told me your whole story, Iman.”

The woman refused to meet her gaze. “It was too big of a risk—”

“Are you serious?” The rage brewing inside Jenassa finally spilled over. “You expected me to kill for you, and thought giving me any information was too big of a risk?”

“I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

And there it was. The truth, ugly and stark and devastating. Jenassa wasn’t sure what hurt more—the revelation, or that it had taken so long for her to tell it. “I suppose my duty here is done,” she said bitterly, feeling like her heart was being ripped out. She didn’t listen to Iman’s protests, her insistence that she would tell her the truth, that things would be different now. The damage was done.

The Drunken Huntsman was quieter than the Mare, but just as hospitable. It also had the added bonus of dealing in weaponry. Elrindir had beamed with delight when shown the scimitar, and offered decent coin for it, as well as a room to stay in.

Business would likely be slower, but the Jarl often had bounties—they would tide her over, for now at least. It was probably best to work on her own for a while. Still, that night as she slept in a bed alone for the first time in weeks, she allowed her sorrow to wash over her, aching to be held.


End file.
